For It Is a Knell
by Chiiyo86
Summary: 5.04 AU. The day the Devil dies is a day for celebration. But Risa can see that it's not true for everyone.


A/N: _I didn't really want to write this because (as you'll soon realize) it's too angsty for my poor sensitive soul. But the plot bunny ate my brain and the words needed out. So what can I do? This is an AU of the future we see in 5.04 "The End", told from the point of view of Risa, the girl featuring in it. My gratitude for Wave Obscura knows no bound - not only did she correct my English as usual, but her advise was precious in the writing of this story._

Warning: _Character death (see what I mean?)_

Disclaimer: _I don't own anything Supernatural related._

---

After they're separated from the rest of the group, Risa and Castiel enter one of the red-brick buildings, running in the hallways with a hoard of enraged Croats at their heels, turning occasionally to shoot a few of the fuckers, then running again. Until they take refuge in one of the few rooms that has a door and block the entrance with a huge wardrobe.

Risa has a look around the room to check if there's another way to get in, but there's only a window. She looks outside; already a group of Croats have gathered down there, looking for a way to climb the wall and get to the window. She thinks she may have recognized Lena's golden hair, and she feels a pang of sorrow. Lena didn't have the time to become Risa's friend before she got infected, but she could have been. Anyway, she's not even really human anymore, so no need to think about it. Especially since other Croats are furiously pounding on the door. Risa has no doubt that one or the other group will eventually get in, there are so many of them. A trap. It was a fucking trap.

"Where the fuck is Dean?" she yells at Castiel.

She knows the answer, or at least she can guess. She thought she was mad at Dean when she learned about him in Jane's cabin; now she's nearly blind with fury. _Fuck you, Dean Winchester. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!_

"If I had to guess, I'd say he's on his way to kill Lucifer," Castiel answers serenely.

"And you and me we're… cannon fodder, is that it?"

"We're diversion."

And he smiles, but not with his usual wide and manic grin. He looks almost… appeased, like he was waiting for a long-due reward. Which could be a way to look at death, she guesses, but she doesn't want any of that shit. If she goes down, she wants to go down fighting, not holed up like a scared rabbit. Castiel keeps smiling and she kind of wants to smack it off his face.

"Did you know about this? Did Dean tell you any of this?"

"I didn't know. Risa, I swear," he says, very serious all of a sudden.

"Okay, I believe you."

She does; Castiel may be a crazy bastard, but she knows he never lies – it's even a bit unnerving, sometimes. But it makes it even worse, Castiel not knowing about Dean's plan. The guy is supposed to be their leader's best friend, isn't he? What kind of bastard throws his best friend to the wolves like that?

There's nothing they can do except wait, even if it drives Risa insane. She gnaws at her fingernails, a nervous habit she gave up on years ago. Castiel sits cross-legged on the floor like he was preaching at one of his… meetings or whatever. His eyes are closed and Risa wonders at one point whether he's sleeping.

She finds herself thinking about Dean, fighting Lucifer somewhere out there, about his chances to defeat the Devil with a gun as his only weapon. Dean and Castiel have explained to her that this gun was supposed to be magic or something, but she's still not sure that she believes it. She used to teach mathematics in high school, for god's sake. The whole world may have gone crazy, but the magic gun is still a little too much to swallow. Well, she thinks, if anyone could do it that'd be Dean.

They wait for what feels like hours but is probably much shorter, until unexpectedly the grunts and pounding from the Croats stop and silence fall on them like a wet blanket.

Castiel's eyes snap open.

"It's over," he says, sounding almost incredulous.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Lucifer is dead." His blue eyes darken. "Oh, _Dean,_" he whispers.

She doesn't take the time to ask him what he means by that – as far as she's concerned the next time she'll see Dean she'll rip his balls and shove them into his throat. She crosses the room in three steps and starts pushing the wardrobe. She wants _out, _even if she knows there could still be danger outside.

They get out of the room and make their way prudently down the hallway and out of the building. They're wary, all senses on alert, covering each other's backs, but they don't meet anyone in the building or around it. None of the other members of their groups, and no Croats – the freaks seem to have vanished into thin air, which should be good news but makes Risa inexplicably nervous. Maybe because she's not used to a good turn of events anymore.

"Where are they?" she whispers.

"I don't know," Castiel answers in a normal voice.

"Think it's another trap?"

"No."

He sounds so sure; she has to admit that it reassures her a little. They keep searching the area until they find a garden, and then Castiel, who is walking in front of her, suddenly drops his gun and stops. She almost bumps into him.

"What the…?"

She takes a step to the right so that she can see what has drawn Castiel's attention. The garden is overgrown with weeds and astonishingly beautiful red roses that look out of place, too fragile and colorful for all the destruction around them. And Dean is kneeling in the middle of it beside the body of a young man dressed in a white suit, blood as red as the roses flourishing on his chest. Lucifer's vessel, probably.

"Dean!" she calls, ready to tear him a new one, but Castiel silences her with a gesture of the hand.

He walks to Dean, takes gently the Colt from his right hand, coaxes him to stand, all of this while talking to him in a voice too low for Risa to make out the words. Something is _wrong; _she can feel it though she doesn't know exactly what it is, just that this scene isn't what she expected it to be. Lucifer is dead but there's no joy or relief in her heart.

---

A few days pass, days of celebration because Lucifer is _dead, _goddamn it, just when everyone was starting to think that there would be no end to this nightmare. However, as the blissful drunken daze begins to dissipate, people realize that it doesn't mean that everything is magically okay. For starters, the Croats haven't really disappeared, as Jack and Harvey discover while they're on reconnaissance patrol, nor have they turned back into who they used to be – another hope Risa had indulged herself with. But they're now somehow confused, slower, and less aggressive. Therefore they are easier to kill, and that's enough. People have learned to take what they can get.

There still are thousands of problems with food, drinking water, meds, and hygiene supplies, as Chuck likes to remind them everyday. Lucifer's death hasn't given them back their houses or their old lives. And worst of all, their leader has locked himself in his cabin with the slowly rotting corpse of Lucifer's vessel, and doesn't seem to want to come out.

"What's going on with him?" she asks Castiel and Chuck on the fifth day, because since Bobby's death they're the only ones who know Dean from before. "We haven't seen him in days. Is he even eating?"

"Yeah, maybe we should try to get in," Chuck suggests anxiously. He turns to Castiel. "Do you think he… Did you take his weapons?"

"Of course I did."

"Why would you take his weapons?" Risa intervenes, alarmed.

"We can't let him die. We still need him," Castiel answers grimly, like he thought letting Dean off himself would be a fucking act of mercy. Risa knows she's missing something crucial and it pisses her off. Could they be more infuriatingly cryptic?

"Is one of you going to tell me what the fuck you're talking about? Why would Dean want to kill himself? He killed the fucking _Devil. _Why isn't he out there celebrating with the rest of us?"

They both look at her for moment in puzzlement, like they've suddenly realized the color of her eyes is different than what they first thought.

"What?" she snaps, feeling self-conscious. "_What?_"

"Oh," Chuck finally says. "So you don't know? I assumed that since Dean and you were… you know, that maybe he told you about Sam…"

"Who's Sam?"

"…But then it's true that he doesn't like talking about it so I should have guessed…"

"_Chuck,_" she hisses, "I know that you like that pretty little dick of yours, so help me God, if you don't start talking _right the fuck now_, I…"

Castiel interrupts her before she can give any gory details on what exactly she's planning to do.

"Sam is the name of Lucifer's vessel."

"Oh," she says stupidly, because she hasn't given Lucifer's vessel a lot of thought. She hadn't even thought he could have a name, or that Castiel would know it.

"More precisely," Castiel continues, "his full name is Sam Winchester."

_Oh._

"You mean that… that Lucifer's vessel was…"

"Dean's younger brother," Castiel finishes for her.

His brother. Ouch, that had to hurt. She thinks about her own family, who are somewhere in the country but that she has no way to contact. For all she knows, they could all be dead, and every time she thinks about it she feels a painful little twist inside. But having to kill one of them, that would be a whole new level of mind fuck.

"I… I'm sorry."

She doesn't know what she's apologizing for, though. For pushing and prodding? She had to know why Dean was acting all weird. In every situation, she'd rather know than not know, it's in her nature, especially in this case, because of how much they all depend on Dean. The day he finally loses it, she wants a warning. That this Sam guy is dead? She can't really be sorry for that either, because it also means that _Lucifer _is dead, and there's no way that can't be a good thing in her book. That _Dean's brother_ is dead? Well, Chuck and Castiel aren't the ones she should be saying sorry to.

"But," she says, "he can't stay locked in there forever. I mean, I get that it had to be hard for him, but… We all have our losses."

_Man up, Dean boy_, she wants to say, but doesn't because it sounds way too harsh and inappropriate. But given that Dean was ready to serve her and Castiel as zombie _hors d'oeuvre_, she would think that their fearless leader would find his brother an acceptable sacrifice for saving the world. Lots of people rely on him, and Dean knows it. Sometimes Risa thinks that it's the only thing he knows.

Chuck sighs. He and Castiel exchange looks.

"Risa, I think you don't quite understand. You know, you should read some of my books."

"Huh?"

She remembers that Chuck used to be some sort of writer, that he published a series of books that was called _Supernatural_, if her memory serves, but she doesn't see what that has to do with anything. She knows he always speak about those books very seriously, but then Chuck is weirdly intense about all kinds of things.

"Um, thanks, Chuck, but I'm not really a sci-fi or horror fan."

He shakes his head in a way that makes her wonder what she said wrong, and Castiel chuckles.

"My books aren't just horror books," Chuck explains patiently. "They're about Sam and Dean's lives."

"Like an autobiography?"

"Kind of. Long story."

Risa ends up with four or five books in her arms before she can protest. She glances at the titles – _Supernatural, Scarecrow, Bloodlust, Mystery Spot, No Rest For The Wicked._

"There used to be more of them," Chuck tells her, apologetic. "But they're the only ones I could save. Read them, and you'll have an idea of who Dean was, who Sam was. Who _they_ were."

She opens her mouth to refuse, because she sure has better things to do than to read cheap horror novels, but then she catches Castiel's glance, sad and disappointed like she has let them down in some way. She blushes faintly, then shrugs.

"Okay, I'll read them."

She starts reading in her bed that evening, and she realizes quickly that Chuck's books have an unexpected power on her. It's not that they're really well-written – she's no literary critic, but sometimes the writing is so cheesy that it makes her laugh – but they feel _real_, maybe because she knows they're telling a true story. There's something raw about them, something that touches the very core of her. When she finishes _No Rest For The Wicked, _which is apparently the last book of the series, her cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes burning, and she's choking on the painful lump stuck in her throat. She can't remember the last time she cried so much.

She can't sleep after that, but stays awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. It's like something has shifted in her, like she was seeing everything in negative and now she sees right again. She finally leaves her bed and gets dressed, and even though it's around 4 am and still dark outside, she gets out and walks to Chuck's cabin. She finds him passed out on the floor with a few empty bottles. Castiel is there too, curled on the table, snoring loudly.

She kicks Chuck in the thigh not too gently.

"Chuck, wake up!"

He starts violently and shouts, "I'm the prophet!" before he even opens his eyes. Then he blinks blurrily at her.

"Oh, um," he stammers. "Risa. Hi. Is it already dawn?"

"Not yet. It's still night." She doesn't like beating around the bush, so she goes on: "I've read your books."

"Oh, that was fast."

"Yeah. You sure that the series ended like this?"

"Well, yeah, the publishing house went bankrupt so… I kept writing, but I couldn't save any of it."

"But what happened after? I mean, Dean ends up in _Hell, _and he obviously isn't there any more, so…"

"I got him out."

She turns. Castiel is awake and sitting on the table, his legs dangling.

"You what?"

"I got him out of Hell. It was my mission. As an angel."

"Oh."

She doesn't know what to say. She never bought any of Castiel's angelic crap, because evil and demonic shit, she has seen a lot of them since the world started to go all apocalyptic, but God and angels? Not so much. She never thought that he was lying because the guy seems to be incapable of it, but she just figured he was a little… you know, delusional. But right now, as he's looking at her with an air that she wants to qualify as regal, he looks so alien, like he was supposed to be bigger than the size of his body, that for a moment she almost believes him.

"Anyway," Castiel says, "I think you should go talk to Dean. You're right, he can't stay locked in his cabin forever."

"What? But… Why me?"

"I think it should be you."

"Why, because we fucked a few times?"

It comes out more dryly than she intended, and she cringes. _Hello, bitterness, my old friend._ It doesn't seem to unsettle Castiel in any way.

"He likes you. He doesn't… _love _you, because I think his ability to love has died with Sam, but he likes you. You're a lot like him, you know." He pauses for a few seconds, before he corrects himself: "Well, like he used to be."

She thinks about the assertion. She has never thought of Dean and herself as similar – _thank God –_ but after reading Chuck's books, she can see how it used to be true. Dean, a Dean she never knew, used to think in a way surprisingly like the way _she_ thinks. She's aware now of how little she has thought about Dean. About who he is beyond the gorgeous green eyes, the full lips, the nice ass, and the… all the rest. The thought of him sleeping with Jane has done little more than wound her ego. But the Dean in the _Supernatural_ books, he was someone she could have fallen in love with. It hurts her in a way she thought nothing could anymore.

"Yeah. Maybe," she finally says.

"Dean needs someone with him, but it has to be someone who doesn't know Sam. Who doesn't remind him of his brother," Castiel explains, looking weary and regretful.

"Okay," she says, not really knowing why the hell she's agreeing with this. "I'm gonna talk to him."

"Good." Castiel swiftly opens another bottle with a long-practiced gesture. "I'll be here getting drunk. Again. Go."

"What, you mean _now_?"

She turns to glance at Chuck, but the little man has fallen asleep again, open-mouthed.

"Now would be a good moment, yes."

Maybe Castiel really is an angel, because Risa doesn't usually do things just because someone told her to, but still she goes to Dean's cabin, walking across the camp in the chilly night. She can barely see more than the white cloud of her own frozen breath, but she would know the way to Dean's cabin with her eyes closed, so she's there in minutes.

When she arrives and pushes the door, she's surprised to see that it isn't locked. She comes in, hesitating between being as silent as she can and making noise to announce her presence. She finds Dean sitting by his bed, head lowered to the body that is lying on it. Lucifer's… no, Sam's body, strangely intact. The dead young man looks asleep, almost peaceful. Someone – Dean, probably – has undressed him and put different clothes on him, so that he's now wearing some jeans and a shirt that are too big to belong to Dean. Are they Sam's own clothes? Has Dean kept his brother's clothes for all these years? _Jesus, Dean._

She comes up to the bed, but he doesn't look up. She doesn't know if he's even aware that she's here. He's pale and there are dark circles below his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept or eaten in days, nothing like the charismatic leader she's used to, but more like a man who was beaten down to the ground and asked to stand up again. He doesn't look like he has cried, though, and somehow it's the saddest thing Risa has ever witnessed. He's not moving, barely breathing; he could be as dead as his brother.

She stands there for a while, until the silence becomes unbearable. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but no sound comes out. Silence is a living, oppressive thing and she can't seem to muster enough strength to fight it. When Dean finally speaks, her heart makes a start.

"What day is it?" he rasps, his voice raw with the lack of use.

"Um, Monday? Monday morning."

He takes a long trembling breath. His hand ghosts over his brother's face with an aching tenderness that she has never seen in Dean before, but he doesn't touch him. Instead, Dean puts his hand back on his knee. He raises his head, looks Risa in the eyes, and her first instinct is to recoil when confronted by how hollow they are.

"They told you, didn't they? Cas and Chuck. They told you about Sam."

"Yeah, they did. I, um, I also read Chuck's books."

Dean lets out a sound that's certainly supposed to be a laugh, but sounds more like a sob.

"Right, Chuck's books. The _Supernatural _series. What a piece of shit."

"They're not so bad."

"If you say so."

New silence that lasts forever, and all she wants to do is to run away. She feels overwhelmed by the unrelenting weight of his grief. What can she say to him that would soothe his pain, even a little? She isn't good at this comforting-grieving-people shit. Castiel is; he knows the right words, and the right moves, and the I-know-your-pain-let's-have-sex-to-make-it-better tone. She can't do any of that. Well, except for the let's-have-sex part.

"You know, in the end, I think it was Sam," he tells her in this wounded voice that makes her wish he would be silent again. "Who was looking at me. I think he said my name. He looked, I don't know, grateful, maybe."

She doesn't move, doesn't talk. She feels something wet on her cheeks and she realizes that she's crying. And how wrong is it that she cries but he doesn't?

"Dean," she says in a strangled voice.

"What?"

"Just…" Where are her words? She used to have some. "Dean."

He closes his eyes, and he's having some kind of spasms, his whole frame shaking. Crying, but it doesn't look like any crying she's ever seen, more like violent dry sobs. She acts on sheer instinct – takes a few steps, and puts her arms around him. He's trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Who am I, Risa? Who am I?" he babbles against her chest, with other things that doesn't really make any sense. He's crying for real now, she can feel the wet of his tears, snot, and drool.

She can't do anything except to keep holding him, so that's what she does. She bites her tongue not to scream, and holds him until dawn.


End file.
